


Blood Magic

by Whedonista93



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Dresden Files (TV), The Dresden Files - All Media Types, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 05:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17656793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whedonista93/pseuds/Whedonista93
Summary: Darcilyn Harriet Lewsnigh has been separated from her father by a spell her whole life. She never expected falling into bed with Gentleman Johnny Marcone would be what helped her finally break the spell.





	Blood Magic

**Author's Note:**

> So... I'm not even gonna try and explain the timeline here. It's wonky.  
> And I took bits and pieces of both book and show canon from Dresden files to suit my needs.

“I would ask how I might be of service, but I’m far more curious as to how I ended up here in the first place, _ma_ _chère_.” His eyes drag over her. “Though you are _far_ more pleasant to look at than my usual company.”

Darcy screams and stumbles back, automatically throwing a shield up between herself and the man suddenly standing in front of her with one hand, the other hand going to her throat. Something about his hair and his suit is _off_ , but she can’t quite put her finger on what. Really, something about _him_ is off. She’s proud that her voice doesn’t shake. “Who are you and how did you get into my room?”

He cocks his head, absently examining her shield. “You called me.”

“I really didn’t,” Darcy insists.

“Hrothbert of Bainbridge,” he bows slightly.

Darcy’s eyes automatically shift to the history text on her bed.

His eyes follow and his lips twist into a near smile. “Are you quite certain?”

Darcy blushes. “I was reading it out loud to try and stay awake instead of falling asleep in the middle of it again. But I am not calling you Hrothbert. Bert? No, Bob. You’re a Bob.”

“Lovely to know my life was so fascinating,” he says dryly, but there’s amusement in his eyes when he focuses back on her. “What I don’t understand, however, is how you managed to call me when I am bound to my - wait, what are those pendants on your necklace?”

Darcy looks down where her hand is still clutched at her chest. She pulls the copper chain away from her chest. The chain holds two pendants. The first is metal, a warm gold color, and is, for all intents and purposes, a shield. The second is off-white, misshapen, intricately etched; most people assume it’s driftwood, and she lets them. But Darcy knows better - she’s more familiar with human bone than she would admit to the general population. Trusting her gut, she holds both up for his inspection. She doesn’t drop the shield, and he respectfully doesn’t try to cross it, but does lean close to examine them.

A strange expression crosses his face. “What’s your name?”

Darcy quirks an eyebrow.

Bob smirks. “Very well. Another approach. Where did you come by those pendants?”

Darcy hesitates, but decides answering is relatively harmless. “They belonged to my father. And before you ask, I’ve never met him. The High Council told me he doesn’t want anything to do with me, abandoned my mother almost as soon as he found out she was pregnant. There’s a spell… I’m physically incapable of even saying his name. And I - shit, why am I telling you this?”

Bob smiles, small but genuine. “Because magic is a funny thing, my dear, and yours knows you can trust me. You can’t say his name, but do know it?”

She nods slowly.

“It’s Harry, isn’t it?”

Darcy’s eyes widen.

“My dear girl, I do hate being the bearer of bad news, but the High Council has told you a most grievous falsehood.”

 

* * *

 

I don’t even bother trying to hide my amusement from the irritated Warden standing in my office. His eyebrows are gone, and it’s nothing short of hilarious. “Looking a little singed there, Morgan.”

Morgan scowls. “Despite the fact that I’m positive this couldn’t have possibly been your doing, I’m certain it was your fault.”

I cock my head curiously… a bit like Mouse when he hears something he deems interesting, but not worth barking at.

Morgan’s scowl deepens. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” Morgan waves vaguely. “Just a young witch too powerful for her own good.”

I roll my eyes. “Was there a reason for you showing up today, Morgan? I’m busy.”

Five minutes, two thinly veiled threats, and three even less thinly veiled accusations later, my office is blessedly Morgan-free.

“Bob!”

Bob is already grinning when he appears. “She certainly shares your affinity for fire,” he shares without prompting. “She’s been quite the little trouble maker since she learned the truth.”

“I’ve gotta find a way to break that spell,” I tell him, knowing full well how desperate I sound.

Bob, uncharacteristically serious, doesn’t even bat an eye. “We will, Harry.”

 

* * *

 

It takes Darcy two years to track down the spell that the High Council used to shield her from her father, and when she does… the blood magic they used is so close to Dark Magic that it makes her shudder in revulsion. It’s also depressingly thorough. But now that she has it, she can figure out how to break it. She just has to get out High Council’s dormitories before she tries.

 

She’s enrolled in Culver before the month is out.

 

Morgan doesn’t catch up with her until Puente Antigua. “You will return at once, you ungrateful child!”

Darcy doesn’t even think before a shield is conjured around her. “Like hell.”

“Has the High Council not given you everything?”

Darcy snarls, feels the heat trying to lick out of her skin. “The High Council took the one thing that mattered, and they had _no right_.”

 

* * *

 

When I stumble home from the bar after celebrating a successful case, Morgan is sitting on my couch.

I groan and drop into the chair farthest from him. “How many of my wards did you break this time?”

“I know you had something to do with it,” Morgan rumbles ominously.

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about, Morgan.” Not my snappiest retort, but I’m still buzzed and I was not prepped for the angry Warden on my ratty old sofa - I had literally done nothing even remotely sketchy lately, and I was not in the mood to feed Morgan’s obsession with blaming every mishap in the world on me.

He leaves shortly after and Bob pokes his head through the wall a few minutes later. He’s grinning.

Harry grins back. “What’d she do this time?”

Bob’s grin grows. “Our dear girl has managed to ally herself with a literal _god_ and the High Council can’t get near her.”

 

* * *

 

“Lady Darcy?” Thor’s voice is the most subdued that Darcy has ever heard it.

“No one knows,” Darcy tells him before he asks.

“I must admit that I do not understand,” Thor’s brow furrows, “because I am not a practitioner, and yet even I see the power barely contained under your skin.”

Darcy shrugs. “It’s complicated, big guy.”

 

* * *

 

Murphy walks in carrying a tabloid between a thumb and a forefinger like it might bite her if it gets any closer to her person. “Why do you read this trash?”

I lean back in my chair and raise my eyebrows at her. “Isn’t it a crime to touch other people's mail?”

She rolls her eyes at me and ignores the question as she tosses the mail on my desk. “Wanna get a beer?”

My surprise must’ve shown on my face.

She shrugs. “Pretty sure I owe you one, and since I’m not on call tomorrow…”

One of the headlines on the nearest tabloid catches my eye. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

“Dresden?”

I look up at her.

“You okay? Don’t feel obligated for my sake.”

Big-time grimace. “Sorry, Murphy, just… just let me look at this one,” I’m already flipping pages. Sure enough, right there in the middle of everything from the spread on Stark’s New Year’s bash, is Darcy, smile bright as the sun. I’m man enough to admit it makes my heart clench a bit.

“Dresden!”

Murphy’s voice jerks me back to the present, her tone suggesting that it wasn’t the first time she had tried getting my attention. I look up guiltily.

She’s quirking an eyebrow at me. “What the hell’s going on with you?”

I shrug. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Let’s get that beer.”

 

* * *

 

Pepper’s eyebrows are just shy of disappearing into her hairline. “I’m sorry, you want us to consider a business venture with who?”

“John Marcone,” Darcy repeats smoothly.

“You do know he’s, like, a kingpin,” Tony interjects.

“Allegedly,” Darcy allows.

“JARVIS could prove it.”

Darcy rolls her eyes. “You’ve been griping for _months_ about wanting an SI satellite lab in Chicago. Marcone can make that happen.”

“Legally?” Pepper challenges.

Darcy shrugs. “What can it hurt to ask?”

A week later, Darcy is having a staring contest with a red-headed mountain outside of John Marcone’s office… well, something like a staring contest. She’s glaring in the vicinity of his ear in reality.

“Mr. Marcone’s afternoon is fully scheduled,” the guard dog insists.

Darcy rolls her eyes. “I have an appointment.”

Guard Dog examines her from head to toe, distaste and disbelief both clear in his expression.

“Okay, yeah, maybe leggings and an oversized sweater don’t scream ‘Stark Industries Representative’, but it’s Chicago in the winter, my man. I am not rocking a business suit and heels in this weather.”

“Hendricks, is my-” Gentleman Johnny himself steps out of the office door behind Dog Man and trails off at the sight of Darcy, arms crossed and foot tapping, still glaring at his guard. “Miss Lewis, I do hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Arguing with Cujo here for the past 10 minutes,” Darcy grumps.

Something unreadable flit across the redheads expression.

Marcone inclines his head ever so slightly. “My sincerest apologies.” He steps aside and gestures her into the office. “If you would care to join me.”

Cujo follows them into the office, but stays by the door when Marcone guides Darcy fully into the office. “You’ll have to forgive Hendricks. He’s paid well to be overprotective.” He offers a hand. “John Marcone, at your service.”

Darcy grips his hand in return. “Darcy Lewis.”

He offers her a seat, which she sinks into gratefully, before settling behind his desk. Under his scrutiny, Darcy is grateful for the charms - filters, essentially - on her glasses that prevent actual eye contact. She has a feeling she’s not prepared for this man’s soul.

They spend the next hour constructing a basic outline of what a partnership would look like. Marcone tells Hendricks to cancel the rest of his afternoon appointments while Darcy calls Pepper to get preliminary approval. Two hours after that, they have a rough contract drafted that includes the lease of a building Marcone owns downtown to send off to both their respective company lawyers.

Marcone leans forward in his chair, hands crossed on his desk, expression blank as always. “I must admit, Miss Lewis, that you are not what I expected as a liaison when Miss Potts called to set up a meeting.”

Darcy grins. “Considering it was my idea, Tony insisted I was the best candidate. Plus, they both think I’m nuts for wanting to crawl in bed with you.”

He quirks an eyebrow.

Darcy doesn’t even blush. “I meant that metaphorically, but the longer I’m here, the more I’m warming to the idea of literally.”

Marcone’s lips _almost_ twitch into a grin. “Would you care to start with dinner?”

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry, you want me to what?” I stare at Morgan, not quite caring that I probably look like an idiot.

“Appear before the High Council,” the Warden repeats past his clenched jaw.

“Why the hells would I do that? I haven’t done anything to warrant a hearing before the High Council.

“I don’t know how it’s your fault, but rest assured, Dresden, we all know it is.”

“What is _it_ , anyway? Maybe if you told me what you’re trying so hard to accuse me of, I could tell you if I did it or not.”

“Will you appear or not?” Morgan demands.

I laugh - probably not the smartest response in the face of an already pissed off Guardian, but hey, very few people have ever accused me of intelligence. “Until I stand accused of something, go bug someone else, Morgan. I have a job to do.” I turn resolutely to the case file Murphy had dropped off earlier, determined to ignore the asshole trying to stare me down.

 

* * *

 

John is only half surprised to see one of Stark’s Audi’s in his garage. John lets Hendricks lead the way into the house, despite them both knowing all they’re going to find is Darcy. She’s not due until tomorrow, but she likes trying to surprise them. John pays Hendricks well to be paranoid, so he stays in the garage without complaint while Hendricks clears the lower level of the house, but makes his way to the kitchen when he hears the other man’s tread on the stairs. Sure enough, he finds Darcy in the kitchen, one hand stirring something on the stove, the other holding a half empty glass of wine, hips swaying to music blasting from the speakers that seem to have set up permanent residence on his counter. He steps further into the kitchen and notices, mercy on whatever’s left of his soul, she’s wearing nothing but one of his button-ups and a pair of lacy green panties.

He smirks as he reaches over to turn her music down and leans a hip against the island. “Some days, my dear, I firmly believe you were placed upon this earth solely to tempt me.”

Darcy drops her spoon and spins, wine almost sloshing out of her glass. “Shit, John! You scared me.”

“Situational awareness, darling.”

Darcy straightens, hand on her chest. “Not an excuse to try and make me piss myself.”

“How quaintly crass.”

Darcy sticks her tongue out at him, nose crinkling.

John opens his mouth to respond, but freezes when he meets her eyes, vaguely aware of her glasses perched on top of her head. He barely registers her breathy, “Oh, fuck,” before he’s lost in her gaze. Her soul is like sunshine, tinged gray at the edges.

Darcy barely has a moment to curse herself for forgetting she isn’t wearing her glasses before falling headfirst into Gentleman Johnny’s soul. It might be the most complex thing she’s ever seen.

John blinks slowly before coming back to himself. “So, you’re a practitioner.”

Darcy blinks back before throwing her head back and laughing. “Of course even this wouldn’t phase you.”

John’s shoulder lift in a barely there shrug. “I _am_ the Freeholding Lord of Chicago.”

Darcy freezes and stares at him for a long moment before  dropping to the floor, back against the cabinets, next to the shattered wine glass she doesn’t remember dropping. “Well, didn’t see that one coming.”

 

* * *

 

 

I stare up at the building Murphy gave me the address to, feet planted firmly on the sidewalk, Mouse panting at my feet.

Murphy flings open the foyer door. “Dresden! You coming?”

“You sure you want me in there?” I call back. “You know technology doesn’t like me!”

“Point?”

“My point is that Stark Industries is built on tech! I don’t wanna fry anything!”

“Dresden, case, damn it!”

Mouse chooses that moment to tear away from my legs and through door Murphy is still holding open. I curse as I run after him. I make it past Murphy just in time to see him plow straight into a young brunette standing next to, of all people, Hendricks. Fortunately, she’s laughing, and Cujo looks a little less murdery at my presence than usual.

I yank Mouse back from slobbering on the girl’s face with one hand and offer my other to help her off the floor. “I am so sorry, Miss. He’s usually much better behaved.”

She reaches for my hand, and the moment our palms meet, it’s as if a lighting bolt strikes between us. We both end up back on our asses as the distinct feeling of dissipating magic fills the air.

I sit up with a groan and can’t help but freeze when I actually get a good look at the girl. “Darcy? Wait… I shouldn’t be able to say your name… we… did the spell… Darcy?”

 

* * *

 

Darcy doesn’t bother trying to stand. She bats Hendricks’ hands, trying to help her stand, away and launches herself across toward Harry, who catches her easily. She buries her face in his chest and cries into his duster as he just keeps repeating her name.

Finally, Darcy calms down enough to pull back and meet his eyes. It’s one of the most intense soul-gazes she’s ever experienced, and feels more than a little bit like coming home.

Harry can’t seem to help smiling down at her. “How?”

Darcy shrugs. “We weren’t actually seeking each other out.”

Harry barks out a laugh. “We were able to get to each other because we weren’t trying to get to each other?”

“Something like that.”

“Right… I don’t even care.” He gently brushes her hair back from her face. “Hells bells, you’re beautiful.”

Darcy blushes. She hears Hendricks scoff and turns to glare at him. “What?”

His expression says everything his mouth doesn’t. _I’ve heard you talking extensively about your sex life with the boss on the phone with Jane with an expression as bland as drying paint, but a decrepit old wizard calls you pretty and you turn red as a tomato._

Darcy flips him off.

 

* * *

 

I narrow my eyes, at the scene unfolding as I stand, pulling Darcy with me. “Wait, why do you have Cujo? I didn’t realize he ever climbed out of Marcone’s pocket.”

Darcy laughs. “You call him Cujo too? No wonder he looks at me like that every time I use it!”

Marcone chooses that moment to rush in. And when I say rush - I mean the man is running, Gard at his heels. I didn’t know he was capable of looking anything other than cool and collected. For the first time since I’ve met him, he utterly ignores my presence as he goes straight for Darcy.

“I’m fine, Johnny,” Darcy assures softly as Marcone _cups her face in his hands_.

“What the hell?!” I demand. It takes every ounce of self-control in my possession, and then some, not to point my blasting rod at Marcone’s head. Fortunately for him, his head’s current position of _resting against my daughter’s_ put him in too close proximity for me to risk it.

Marcone straightens and faces me, usual cool expression back in place. “Harry, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Don’t call me Harry,” I snap reflexively, absently noting Hendricks handing Darcy her glasses back.

“I called him,” Murphy joins the conversation. “He’s helpful with kidnapping cases. Can find the victim faster than anything we can do. It wasn’t clear that it was an _attempted_ kidnapping until after we got here.”

“Who did who try to kidnap?” Harry asks.

“Rival of Johnny’s tried to kidnap me,” Darcy fills in.

 

* * *

 

 

My mind goes blank. “Why?”

“I really don’t see how my personal affairs are your business, Mister Dresden,” Marcone answers coldly.

I look at Darcy.

She rolls her eyes and tucks herself under his and _snuggles_ into his side. And Gentleman John fucking Marcone wraps an arm around her shoulders and _smiles_ at her.

Darcy smiles back. “Johnny, baby, apparently you’re already acquainted, but meet my dad, Harry.”

And hells bells, I wish I could use a camera without breaking it, because John Marcone actually showing surprise on his face? That kind of thing needs to be commemorated.

 


End file.
